The Love that Must Be Lost
by iwillwrite4you4ever
Summary: Rated M for very mature subject matter. Hessian, Ichabod and Mary fiction, by everyone's favourite  who am i kidding ...person. How's that for a bad summary?  one chapter only, already complete. please R&R


ichabodXhessian wheee!

this is my first gay porno, with a polite smattering of Lady Van TasselXIchabod and Lady Van TasselXHessian (she's such a slut)

Ichabod rode through the Western Woods nervously; dusk was falling, and his old horse Gunpowder, though trustworthy and loving, was not fast enough to get herself and her rider out before night fell entirely. Ichabod was very afraid, as though the forest held some special torment meant just for him. For all he knew, it suddenly whinnied in fear and reared up; a black shape had darted across the path just ahead of them. Ichabod felt the beginnings of a faint but he pulled himself together before much else could happen. He urged Gunpowder into a trot and made it out of the Forest before he completely **lost his head.**

He rode Gunpowder to the Van Tassel's stable and took off her saddle. He walked briskly inside, and nodded at Mary Van Tassel. She was standing before the stairs, blocking his way. "Constable," She purred, resting a delicate hand on his chest. "Do you think the murders will be solved quite soon? I am terribly afraid, and with Baltus gone, I fear I'm vulnerable." Ichabod felt his cheeks flare red as he reassured her; "The murders will be solved soon, Lady Van Tassel. Please, excuse me, I have evidence to, er, list." She let him walk past, and allowed a small growl to escape her throat. She darted outside and walked to the Western Woods and slipped between the trees before anyone could notice.

THe Hessian 'watched' his Mistress pace back and forth disinterestedly. He could not actually see her, having no head; he 'saw' only a black blob on a green backdrop. Everyone else appeared orange, while those he was to kill appeared purple. One person, one he was told was 'off-limits', appeared as a hot pink smudge. Curious, the Hessian had stalked the smudge whenever it entered the woods, and had come to know it as the man from New York, who held the constabulary position. He slouched against the wall as she paced, rolling his skull in her hands. He truly hated it when she did this; it made him very , she threw the skull against the wall. Daredevil screamed shrilly as it collided, and the Hessian reached up to place pressure on a cut that wasn't there. "Sorry," Lady Van Tassel said shortly, picking the skull up and dusting it off. She waved her hand; a green fire appeared. The Hessian looked over her shoulder as she smiled fondly upon the sleeping face of Constable Crane. "God, I want him..." She hissed. She looked at the Hessian coldly. "Hessian!" She barked. He stood straight. She threw his head at him, which he caught awkwardly. "Bring him to me, and you can keep it on." She ordered. The Hessian nodded and put on his head. Lady Van Tassel smiled at him as soon as his eyes were open. Her hand ghosted his cheek. "Good boy." She whispered as the Hessian turned and left without his ebony steed.

Ichabod turned and twisted in his bed. He was dreaming of his mother, her kind grey eyes beckoning to him. Suddenly, her eyes, which were like warm ashes, turned to blue, as cold as an iced steel blade in the moonlight. Ichabod opened his eyes and turned to the window. He cried out in surprise. A person was standing in his window, half in and half out. On their face was an expression of surprise. Blue eyes were wide as they stared at him, pale thin lips forming an 'O', revealing small bits of sharpened teeth. Ichabod bolted upright and pushed the intruder out the window, slamming it shut after. He backed away and felt a rough, gloved hand close over his mouth. He turned to see the intruder again, and he fainted dead away.

The Hessian carried Ichabod down the stairs, taking care to go slowly and step lightly. He had even muffled his spurs. Ichabod was like a gigantic baby in his care; he had no trouble carrying him, but wished he could just throw him in a lake. Ichabod stirred in his faint, his lips brushing the Hessian's neck lightly. Shivers of ice ran down the Hessian's spine at the contact, and he struggled to fight them hurried out to the Tree of the Dead and slipped inside, imagining a cell. It appeared, and the Hessian put Ichabod on the floor inside it before walking out. He got a bundle of furs and laid it down, setting Ichabod ontop of it; it would do for a bed. The Hessian took off his leather armour and his jacket and cloak and shirt, before laying down shirtless on the floor, pressing his back to the wall, he pretended to be asleep.

Ichabod woke up, looked around. He saw someone who could only be the Hessian sleeping (did dead men sleep?) a ways away, saw the bars around him. He hoped the Hessian had neglected to search his pockets. Ah, he had. He found a pen and successfully picked the lock on the cell. He was tempted to walk out the door, which was a mere crack of light, but found himself drawn towards the Hessian. He knelt down quietly and reached out. His hand met the nearest shoulder, which had surprising solidity to it. He let his hands search more.

The Hessian felt hands touch him. It was Ichabod. He had to fight a smile as the hands slid to his chest, his neck, his stomach. He stayed as still as he could (which was very, thanks to all the wars) and desperately wished the hands would drift did, and as they began to touch his hips, his thighs, he found he could stay still no longer. He turned his head, drew an unneeded breath and yawned. Ichabod's hands left him, and he reached outward, his hand coming to rest on a soft cheek. He withdrew his hand sharply and looked up to Lady Van Tassel smiling over him, a fainted Ichabod by her side. "Well done, Hessian." She murmured, leaning down and kissing him faintly. Her lips tasted of wine against his as he kissed her again, and again, seeing her eyes grow brighter. He kissed her deeply then, watched her eyes close, and, encouraged, he pushed at her lips with his tongue. Her mouth opened for him and their tongues began to wrestle. "Oh," She murmured as he nipped her lips with her sharp teeth. Her chest strained against his. "Good god," They heard Ichabod say in shock. Lady Van Tassel laughed, and pulled away from the Hessian's lips. "Good morning, Constable. How did you sleep?" Ichabod stared at her hand, which was near the Hessian's belt. He felt a jealousy that was very strange for him. "Fine," He whispered, and Lady Van Tassel pressed her lips to the Hessian's again; she moaned firmly, and began to undo her dress. The Hessian blinked as she let her dress fall; she haf both the men's attention. She pulled the Hessian's head up to them, and the Hessian, familiar with the routine by now, willingly opened his mouth and captured one. As he sucked on her breast, he heard Ichabod move closer, sensed him reaching out, his hand tentatively cupping the woman's other breast. Lady Van Tassel smirked and pulled back from the Hessian, leaning into Ichabod's touch. There was a massive tent in the man's pants, the Hessian noted, and he fought down a smile. Lady Van Tassel yanked down Ichabod's pants, revealing his member, hard and erect. She shoved him onto the Hessian, who hooked his arms under Ichabod's armpits and pressed his hands behind the man's head in a full Nelson. Ichabod kicked and thrashed until the Lady Van Tassel sat down on his hard cock. The Hessian watched with facination as Ichabod slid inside his mistress, as Ichabod moaned and pressed his head against the Hessian's throat. The Hessian felt a surge of blood rushing down, felt his cock growing hard, and he shifted so Ichabod wouldn't feel his arousal. Lady Van Tassel smiled sweetly and mouthed 'You're next.' The Hessian smiled at her promise. Ichabod moaned particularly loud, and Lady Van Tassel shuddered and bucked; the Hessian felt a rish of warm liquid on his pants and he blinked in disgust. Lady Van Tassel stood up and dressed, watched Ichabod crawl naked into the corner, bent down slightly and stroked the Hessian's erect cock through his pants. The Hessian gasped, and she smiled coldly, turned, and left. Gritting his teeth, he tugged at his cold, wet pants and managed to get them down over his hips. He felt Ichabod staring at it and he felt an urge to walk over and force the mortal's mouth onto it. He fought it down and stroked himself lightly, dragging his fingertips over the head. Ichabod moved closer and he reached out, his eyes on the Hessian's, and he took the other man's hands and moved them away before lowering his mouth to it and giving a small lick. The Hessian blinked and moaned involuntarily. The lips tightened around it and Ichabod gave a strong suck. The Hessian moaned again, and Ichabod pulled the Hessian's pants down all the way.

Ichabod was looking at the Hessian's cock out of the corner of his eye. It was long, and white, and looked incredibly, painfully hard. He moved towards it and took the hands from it, leaning down and letting his tongue grace the tip. It tasted of earth. The heard the Hessian's soft moan, and he sucked harder, pulling down the wettened pants of the dead man. He smiled at the Hessian's thin, muscled legs. "Unh..." The hessian murmured. He coiled his hand in Ichabod's dark hair, and Ichabod smiled widely. He sucked harder, coaxing the man to come. The Need built up in him, and he took his mouth away and stroked it gently, kneeling down and whispering, "Please..." The Hessian looked at him, knelt behind him. Ichabod felt the cold tip against his ass and he closed his eyes, desperate yet fearful. He was ready for the burst of pain that heralded penetration. It didn't come; the Hessian slid inside halfway, and no pain. Ichabod moaned as the cold spike pushed in farther, until the no-longer-headless Horseman was entirely sheathed in him. Ichabod moaned, as he pushed back onto the Hessian's cock as said Hessian began to thrust into him, slowly, mechanically, bringing intense pleasure that threatened to overwhelm Ichabod. Suddenly, the Hessian was torn roughly from him; upset at the loss, he saw Lady Van Tassel standing in front of him. She slapped him-hard-and then went to the Hessian, who was tied to the wall with chains. "He is MINE!" She raged, holding a sharp looking dagger to the Hessian's throat. "Respect that or you'll pay!" Ichabod could not stand by and wach this. "Do not harm him! It is not his fault! I asked him to make love to me! Harm me if you must harm anyone!" Lady Van Tassel looked at him coldly. "You, I will not harm. Him, however, he can handle it." And she stabbed the dagger into the Hessian's throat, wrenched it either way, and grinned ferally as she pulled the Hessian's head away from his neck. The body slumped, then regained it's strength and trashed wildly, blood flying from its neck. Ichabod winced, and touched the cold hand. Van Tassel lopped the Hessian's hand from his arm. "Touch him again and I cut out his heart!" Ichabod backed away from them, and from the steadily growing puddle of blood. "Oh, my Hessian," Lady Van Tassel spoke, stroking the head as it reverted to a skull. "My dark avenger, struck down by needs. What use have you for needs. They are distractions. While you serve me, you are not to touch him. He is mine. If you need succor, you come to me and me alone. I'll attend to it myself or bring a girl-or man-from the village." The chains fell from the headless body and it slumped, fell to its knees and then it's back. "Oh, my poor fool," Lady Van Tassel crooned, crouching beside it. Ichabod felt he was going to be sick as she stroked the headless neck. "You're in such pain." She dipped her finger in the blood from the hand and sucked on her finger, an expression of delight on her face. "I love it when you're in pain," Ichabod was disgusted, and he crawled nearer to the Hessian. Lady Van Tassel turned to him, smiled coldly and pushed him on to the headless body. "Fine, take him. I'll have fun watching." She sat down and watched as Ichabod picked up the skull and gently placed it on the neck. The flesh and skin reformed again, and the hand reattached itself to the wrist. Ichabod kissed the Hessian's cold lips and sat down on him, easing his ass onto the Hessian's cock and moaning. When the Hessian was completely sheathed in him, he began to ride him, rocking his hips. The Hessian's cold hand wrapped around him and began to stroke and rub, and Ichabod moaned again, his eyes rolling back into his head. Lady Van Tassel sneered, wrapped her fingers around the handle of a knife. Her eyes went wide, however, when she was suddenly grabbed from behind by cold, scaly hands that began to pull her into the wall. She grabbed the Hessian's axe and chopped at them, but she hadn't the strength to break the scaled skin. She began to be pulled into the wall, and suddenly she sat straight up, panting. She was in the Hessian's tree, still, but Ichabod was locked in his cage, the Hessian still headless, and laying clothed on the floor. Both of them were asleep. Lady Van Tassel decided it had been a dream and crawled to her Hessian, laying down with her head on his stomach. The leather armour was cold with death under her cheek, and she saw the blood, dried, around a slit two inches long where he had been stabbed. The armour was also grimy from 20 years of being in a grave, and it reeked of dust and earth. As solid as he felt, the Hessian was just air and earth animated by his body's lust for blood and her own anger. Every kill he made, he became more solid, it became easier for him to move in the day. She stroked the severed neck gently, and wished she had not trapped the Hessian to her will. She longed to let him go, but if she did, he would surely kill her for what she'd done. She sighed and laid down, tears dripping down her cheeks and cleaning the armour where they fell. "My Hessian," She whispered. "What have I done?"

Ichabod heard her whispers, asking about her sins. He sat up and saw her, resting her head upon the Hessian, her facd wet with tears. He stood and walked to her to comfort her, and she clung to him, looking at the severed neck. "I cursed him," She said with a dawning realization. "I wanted him to be mine. Honestly, I did. I heard the whispers of the death spirits around him, the spirits that had fathered his evil." Ichabod remembered the sharp teeth and supernaturally blue eyes. "Tell me about the Hessian. What do you know? What did the death spirits tell you?" Lady Van Tassel shuddered, stroking the neck fondly. "They told me about a little boy, who had been born on Christmas day. An ill child, one born to die. They said he was not going to survive the rest of the winter, so the father put him in the middle of the forest, dinner for the wolves." As he was walking away, a woman in a black robe and cloak walked up to the ill child, carried it back to it's father and said he should love it while it lived. The father wouldn't and he threw the baby into a deep, iced-over stream. It managed to get to shore, but it froze to death that night, alone in the snow. The whole village heard it's weeping and wept with it." tears were dripping down Lady van Tassel's face. "The woman in black picked up the little body and carried it home, laying it by the fire to warm it, singing to it as though it lived." Ichabod closed his eyes and saw the little child illuminated by the fires, with the mysterious woman cradling it to her chest. "She cut open it's chest and laid bare it's heart, and she called the spirits of death to reanimate it. An old, wise, cunning spirit inhabited the child, residing in it's heart, and the baby was brought back to life. It was changed, though. It fed off raw meat, would throw rocks at rabbits and then rip them to shreds as they lay dazed. The baby's eyes turned the colour of the ice that had killed it, and it's teeth gradually sharpened. It was only docile to it's mother, the woman who had brought him back, and the only person who loved him." Lady Van Tassel opened the Hessian's shirt and revealed a lengthy scar over the breastbone. "He was found at the age of six by a military general who was riding through the forest, looking for the witch that had raised him. The general was kind, and not frightened by the cold eyes, and he pulled the boy into his saddle and gave him a ride home on his horse. The General went inside the cave where the witch lived and killed the witch while the boy stayed outside, petting the horse. The boy was taken from his home and put in a military quartle. He was trained to kill. And he met a horse he particularly loved, all black, a new colt. At twenty he was sent to America, where he died. Because of me." Ichabod stared at the Hessian. So much suffering in his past. "I hate what I did..." Ichabod pulled her hand from the Hessian's throat. "Let him go, then." Lady Van Tassel sighed. "I don't know how." Ichabod, at that moment, resolved to help free the Hessian.

Lady Van Tassel waited for the Hessian to wake up. When he did, she threaded a needle, sighed again and placed the skull atop his neck. The stitched head and torso together and smiled at the look of disbelief and surprised pleasure on his face. "That's better, isn't it?" She asked, stroking his cheek. She herself was surprised with the motherly action, even more so when he smiled. It was a slow, unpractised smile, and did not make him look younger or even happier, but it was a smile. Ichabod walked up and kissed the Hessian forcefully. Lady Van Tassel averted her eyes, and had to snicker when Ichabod showed discomfort upon sitting down. He looked at her sharply and held up a book. "I know how to make the Hessian a free spirit again." He announced, smiling. "We need to burn the tree of the dead, the book says." Lady Van Tassel nodded and smiled. "Alright." That night, they got torches, lit them, and prepared to set the tree on fire. Daredevil and the Hessian watched theflames catch with some sadness; the tree had been their home for many, many years. The Hessian gasped and experienced a scalding, burning pain in his side. He fell off the horse, and, gasping in pain, stripped off his armour. The stab wound was bleeding again. He was mortal. "No," Lady Van Tassel cried as he fell to his knees in agony. Ichabod ran to his side and held the Hessian. "No," He whispered. "I didn't want this to happen..." He stroked the Hessian's cheek, which was getting paler every minute, unaware of the blood that was soaking his coat until it touched his skin-it was warm and wet against his belly-unaware of everything but the Hessian's glazed over eyes and pale cheeks and the lips that would soon cease parting to admit breath. "Ichabod..." The Hessian murmured sadly, and, holding his side, he gave Ichabod a kiss. It was soft and gentle, a kiss of mourning, and when it was done Ichabod felt tears stinging his eyes and saw them in the wounded man's. "Not you," Ichabod whispered as the Hessian's grip on his lapel slackened, then relinquished entirely. The gloved hand fell, limply, to the side, and the head rolled back, the lips curved into the distant and disconcerting half-grin of death. Ichabod buried his face in the neck, sobbing when he felt the last heartbeat. He pounded thr ground with his fists, and then his head. "What a fool I was." He whispered in the Hessian's eternally deaf ear. "I killed you. I loved you, and it was your death." He kissed the dead lips. "At least you're free." He watched Daredevil collapse, and, as the horse fell, so did Ichabod's facade. He wept openly over their bodies, and the Hessian's cold, open eyes stared up into an even colder sky. Snowflakes drifted down, but the usually cheery weather seemed to mock them, the weather that had killed him as a child coming back to be present at his third death; burying the Hessian's face as soon as ichabod could uncover it. "NO!" Ichabod screamed, wiping snow from his lover's face.

The bodies rapidly began to decay, until there were only the impressions of bodies and what they had been wearing. In its proper place above the Hessian's leather armour was a skull. Ichabod cried openly over them, Lady Van Tassel beside him, on their knees in the snow with the smouldering tree of the dead behind them. The pure white skull was all he had left of his lover, and even that he could not keep. He shovelled snow and dirt from the gravesite of the Hessian, until the bones were exposed. They were all there, white, unmarred by insects or worms, except the head. Ichabod slid into the grave, looking at the bones with much sadness. He placed a saddened kiss upon the skull's fangs, which the Lady Van Tassel mimicked, and then placed the skull above the collarbone in what he hoped was an image of repose. There was a rush of wind rising upwards, and the feel of a warm hand brushing his cheek, before all of it vanished, and the bones lay there, nothing more then a pile of remains, yet so much more then that.

Last Paragraph.

Ichabod cried himself to sleep that night, but when he did, he dreamt of his ghostly lover, the Hessian. They were in the tree of the dead, and Daredevil was happily chewing some flowers while the Hessian stood before him. "You really are an interesting man, Ichabod Crane," The Hessian said. His voice was strangely quiet, softened by his Hesse accent, and ichabod felt himself melt. "You attack me with a scythe one day, and faint at a spider at the next." Ichabod was drawn into the Hessian's embrace gently, and he closed his eyes and sighed softly. The Hessian spoke again, and Ichabod felt the warrior's heartbeat, firm against his ear. "Life is but training, miene liebe, for what comes next. To gain access to one's nextr existence, we must persevere. But for you, partly because of what you _have_ experienced and what you _have not_ experienced, it will be extra hard. Persevere like a bulldog, miene Ichabod, and I'll meet you at the gates to Gilead." The Hessian took Ichabod's hands in his gloved ones and examined the scarred palms. "So will your mother." Ichabod hugged the Hessian and kissed him, a hungry, deep kiss, which the Hessian returned. In moments they were both naked, clothes strewn about. Ichabod found himself being stroked by the other man's hand, while he himself ran his tongue over firm muscles and limbs. He was lowered gently to his back, and the Hessian raised Ichabod's hips and thrust in. Ichabod moaned loudly, eagerly pushing back onto the stiff length. "Take it slow, Ichabod. We have all the time in the world." The Hessian smiled down at him and gently began to thrust, slowly and carefully. Ichabod had never thought it could be so good. The Hessian leaned forward and kissed him. The kiss was long and deep, and when it ended, Ichabod asked, "Why can't I come with you now? I don't want to wait to have you again." Orgasm was tightening Ichabod's crotch, and he desperately bucked his hips. The Hessian pulled out of him and sucked Ichabod's dick hard, taking the whole length into his mouth. Ichabod moaned loudly and sharply when he came. The Hessian sat up and swallowed Ichabod's come before holding Ichabod tightly to his chest and yawning. "Delayed gratification, miene liebe. It makes everything better." Ichabod woke with a profound sense of meaning, and that morning he went to the Hessian's grave and smiled down at it. "I'll persevere. I promise." That night, the Hessian did not come to him in a dream, but Ichabod knew he was there.

Lady Van Tassel died shortly after a dream of the gates of hell opened for her.

Ichabod died at the age of seventy (which was very old in the 1800s). Both the Hessian and Ichabod's mother were waiting for him.

Sleepy Hollow soon forgot the head-chopping epidemic, the name of Ichabod Crane and the witch Lady Van Tassel. But they were always reluctant to enter the woods because of a charred patch in the middle of a clearing that always seemed to be leaking blood...

The end! Third fic. YAY! Are you gonna review! Yes you are! Yes you are! You're gonna review!

...No?...Reverse psychology.

Don't you dare press that button that leads you to review! Don't you dare.


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